Guilt
by WaffleGoddess
Summary: Guilt. That's all we are. Just idiotic fools who believe in forever. Yet the son of an inventor must learn his path now...


Guilt

Woo…a fic. By me! Yaaaaaaaaaay!

You know you're happy! C'mon, admit it! ADMIT IT!

I don't own Baten Kaitos. Like you didn't know that already.

This is just a little ramble that came right off the top of my mind. Something I made during nighttime, when I was booooored…so don't feel sorry for me and flame me if it starts going all whack.

How manyinnocent lives hasn't this blade taken with its precise,deadly movements?

Did they yell and scream as you passed the blade through their bodies?

Or were they so young that they asked you to play with them before you ripped their bodies to shreds?

A weapon, born of a stone and melted by the flame, a simple weapon. There is only one need for any weapons.

To kill.

It sounds simple enough…but moving the last few inches across a much more deserving throat seems like an impassable task.

"You deserve it."

The owner of the blade whispers these words not as an announcement, but more for his own faltering reassurance.

Hah…he sounds like he's full of…Guilt! He's a fool…he's an idiotic fool…

"You're despicable," he continued, his lower lip shaking. "You're pathetic."

He drew a few more harsh breaths, yet the blade will not move.

Pathetic! That's all you are! That's all everything is! You misled pathetic beings!

"You're afraid. You fear death."

That's all you feel about death! That's all! You hate death! YOU HATE IT! YOU FEAR IT!

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha…silly, silly, silly, children…you fear death like you…hah…fear the dark…hah…

He closed his eyes and muttered between his teeth:

"Death..."

Death.

"is…:

Death is not a wonderful thing.

"not..."

It is not enjoyed, it is not greeted into a home, and it is not loved by anyone. Did you ever wonder why people wanted to be immortal? Obviously, you fear death.

"to…"

It is hard to tell one the truth. The truth that nobody can truly live forever, because despite the titles you get as a brave one, or a chosen one, or a savior, there will always be another power, washing you away.

"be…"

You can try to be an immortalas much as you like, try to avoid death. You can run, but you can't hide forever. Something will always find you. Something will always make you die, because death…

"feared."

as feared as it is, isdeath.

With each word, he forced the deadly blade a little bit closer to the trembling neck it was meant to slit...

Is he actually going to do it? Nonononononono…he's afraid. You can't be afraid if you're going to die.

He was interrupted by a muffled voice, calling his name. He instinctively opened his eyes and pointed them to the small door of the room. After he pressed himself against the wall, he closed them again, as if frightened to see the bloodshed that was about to occur. But of course…we can see someone else's blood, but we can't see our blood without at least feeling a little bit of…Guilt.

Come on, do it.

But he can't. No matter how much he forced himself to push the blade forth, the scythe stays in place. There was a careful knock on the door; his eyes reopened.

Do it now. Do it now. NOW NOW NOW!

Yet the blade betrayed him again, and the door opened gently with a low creak, a tiny crackle in a dark, damp room.

"Giacomo?"

As the bearded man he had gotten to know as his father stepped inside, he closed his eyes again and lowered his arm in defeat, knowing very well the expression that the human will have put up. He has seen it much, much too…much.

He listened to the fast footsteps as the man quietly crossed into the room. His father's hand feels his neck; his rapid breathing slowing down to a much calmer state.

He then pulled out a green card, with a symbol of some sort of fruit. It was like a turnip gone wrong, its top tearing apart into a prickly pinecone-like object. Soon, in a flash of light, it came to a fully three-dimensional form. The father placed the fruit on the scythe-wielding man, and soon he fell into darkened state.

He woke up in a dark room, a blanket draped over his shoulders. The room was metal, and the clicking of several machines was heard.

"Have a drink."

His father said it in a gloomy, surprising tone. Not having expected this, he looked around. A nearby machine was pouring a fizzy golden liquid from a large can into a bowl and a glass. Pushing the bowl decisively towards his son, the father takes a big sip of his drink.

"Drink it. You will feelbetter."

Hesitatingly, he leaned down to dip his tongue into the bowl, seeing no other means of drinking the liquid, as his arms were too determined to betray their owners. He cringed at the bitter taste.

"It gets better after you've had a bit," the father comments helpfully, having already finished half of a rather big glass. He slowly laps up a bit more and seems to be acquiring the taste; within long he had finished the contents of the bowl. His father immediately opened a cupboard and pours the bowl full again. After a bit more of this strange drink, he appeared to be feeling slightly better, awakened from his state of…Guilt.

"I failed."

That is a part of the meaning in his quiet growl. Understanding that part, his father nodded.

"I thought you had maybe... succeeded this time."

"I had almost done it, but lost my nerve when I heard you," he said bitterly, lapping up some more of the drink. "It's stupid and pathetic, isn't it?"

"Giacomo, why is it stupid? Why is it pathetic? Why are you doing this to yourself?" whispered the father quietly without looking at him. He ignored this question completely.

It had been asked before and the answer has not changed: It is nobody's business.

A bit of silence follows. Then the man speaks again.

"I know how you feel..."

This comment seems to be the one with the most meaning to him; as he abruptly looks up at his father's rough face, his grey hair being frazzled.

"Life is a pain sometimes," the father continued in a low voice. "For every dream that comes true, ten are shattered. For every happy hour comes a day's worth of nightmares. When you struggle a long way to a goal only to see it escape from your grip and all your work dissolve into nothing, you really start wondering if it's all worth it..."

No, it's not! It's all worthless! You're not getting anything from life…you're just…failing.

"It isn't,"hesaidshortly and laps up a bit more from the bowl. Surprisingly, this only induces an odd smile on the human's face.

"No. But do you know what has kept me alive for all these years?"

His father doesn't need an answer; as he simply looks at his father with a hint of curiosity, the drink finally forgotten. His mouth closed in a twisted expression, then his mouth opened up.

"Who really gives a damn if it's worth it?"

"As much of a pain as it can be,life isthe only thing you have. When you're dead, you'redead – you don't want to watch all the opportunities you could have taken unfold into what could have been your future, knowing that you can never turn back, grab the opportunities, live that future. At least die knowing that you did everything in your power to attempt to die happy, even if the happiness never does come." His father responded, his milky eyes looking down at his glass.

He looks intohis father'seyes, as the older man continues. "What I'm trying to tell you is that if you die now, you know you'll die unhappy. But if there is the slightest chance that your dreams could come true, that your life could get better – then you're better off taking your chances. Take all of you opportunities now, because life is long when you live it, but oh so short when you look back."

He doesn't answer; he just stares at the bowl in front of him, deep in thought. Finally he starts lapping up the drink again.

The man takes a sip from his own glass while he finishes from the bowl; then he looks up at his father.

"You want to know why?"

His voice held a faltering tone, as if he was full of…guilt.

So...that's all you are.

Just a mortal.

Just worthless

Just a being of guilt.


End file.
